Red As, Cold As
by ckofshadows
Summary: Companion piece and prequel to Roses in December


**_A/N: This is a companion piece to Roses in December. _****_It should be read after Chapter 29 of RiD_****_, or it will make very little sense._**

_My new year's resolution was to get back to writing and especially to finish the RiD series. Here is the first step. This one-shot has a different narrator than RiD, which may be a little jarring. It provides some back-story that RiD needs in order to move forward — back-story that couldn't have been supplied through Blaine's point of view._

_This is dedicated 100% to the world's greatest beta, **t-vo0810**, who has put up with draft after draft of this for four entire months. I can't even express how amazing and supportive and wonderful she has been._

**_Trigger Warning for violence._**

* * *

Blaine walks toward me slowly, his eyes shining with love and awe. I meet him halfway across the stage, clasping his hands as we both rise into the air.

"Oh, come what may..."

"Come what may..."

"I will love you, until my dying..."

"Cut!"

Sam and Puck nearly drop me, and it's only due to some quick footwork by Mike that Blaine doesn't fall flat on his face. We all catch our breath as Mr. Schuester paces back and forth in front of us.

"The lifts aren't working," he says bluntly. "Everyone is supposed to be supporting Kurt and Blaine equally, but with the exception of a few of the boys, most of you aren't even standing anywhere near them. With so many cheerleaders in our midst, I really thought we'd have this choreography down by now."

"The Cheerios are used to lifting girls," Brittany explains. "I got freaked out when I went to lift Blaine and got a handful of boy lumps."

"In fairness, I think I was just as freaked out as you," Blaine says, looking pale.

"Folks, our competition is only a few weeks away. If we're going to really wow the judges this year, we need for this song to be a show-stopper."

Rachel steps forward, clearing her throat. "_Mister_ Schuester, with all due respect, I think we all know that an epic love ballad like Come What May would be better expressed by me and Finn. We've been together for years—"

"So have we," I say tersely. "And unlike you two, we've never broken up."

"Finn and I have been discussing marriage—"

Blaine and I hold up our ring fingers in silent unison.

"But think about the _story_," Rachel insists. "A romantic young writer meets a beautiful, brilliant, talented, tortured _artiste_—"

Santana's hand shoots into the air. "Mr. Schuester, may I be excused? Rachel's putting my gag reflex on overdrive."

"Nice try, Lopez," Puck yawns, "Every guy in this room knows you don't _have _a gag reflex."

"Oh no, I have one, but something has to be long enough to trigger it."

"Enough," Mr. Schuester calls out. "The duet is Kurt and Blaine's, and that's final. They've worked hard on it, and I think it's going to be amazing once we iron out the kinks."

"Kurt's kinks are flannel shirts and talking about kissing boys," Brittany pipes up. "I totally remember from when he and I were boyfriends."

Mr. Schue runs his hands through his hair, looking exhausted. "Look," he sighs. "It's late. I think we're all tired. Go home, get some rest. We'll pick up again on Monday."

Everyone groans in relief, and most people disperse quickly. Finn and Rachel immediately start arguing about whether he can bring his gym bag into her car.

"It's laundry day tomorrow, Rach, I have to bring it home so Mom can wash my stuff."

"My upholstery _reeked _after the last time. I had to use air fresheners for three weeks just to be able to take a deep breath in there, and you _know _I need to breathe deeply when I'm running through my vocal exercises."

"Well, if you had leather seats instead of that super absorbent fabric, this wouldn't be a—"

"What vegan do you know with _leather seats_, Finn? Honestly, how can you—"

"Guys, cool it. I have leather seats in my car; they never absorb any smells. I can drop the bag off at your house on my way home," Blaine calls over to them, earning a glare from me.

"Oh _can_ you? Who drove you to school this morning, Mr. Anderson?"

He pauses. "Oh, right. Well, your seats are leather too."

"And blissfully stink-free."

"Would you rather spritz a little air freshener in there, or listen to these two bicker for another hour?"

I think about it for a moment. "Fair point," I concede. "Finn, you still use the same combination on your locker?"

"Yeah. Thanks, bro, I owe you one." He follows Rachel out of the auditorium, still insisting that his sweaty clothes don't smell _that _bad.

Before long, Blaine and I are the last ones on stage. He looks sleepy and adorable as he snuggles up against me.

"The song's not working," he murmurs.

"I know."

"Maybe I'm drowning you out."

"It's not either of us, Blaine."

"So who? The backup?"

"I don't know."

The other kids don't realize it, but for us, the stakes on this song are way higher than a simple show choir competition. The first time we watched _Moulin Rouge_ together, I told Blaine that I wanted to sing "Come What May" with my husband at our wedding. Months later, he admitted that he'd practiced Christian's part for the next three days straight. He said he wanted to be ready, just in case.

Eventually I let go of him, smiling at his faint sound of protest. "Let's run it again."

We do. Over and over we run through the song, until it dawns on both of us at the same time. "It's the ending," we say together.

"It's too much."

"Absolutely," I agree. "It needs to end quietly, like it began."

We try it again, cutting it a few bars early and ending softly with "I will love you..." I feel that tingle down my spine that tells me we've gotten it right, and judging by Blaine's smile, he feels it too.

I smack a kiss on his cheek as we head out of the auditorium, my lips catching a little on his scratchy stubble. The school's hallways are dark. Blaine tangles our fingers together, and when our promise rings clink against each other, I have to push my lips together to keep from smiling like a lunatic. I wonder if the novelty will ever wear off.

I hope not.

We stop at his locker so he can pick up his math textbook, and swing by Finn's locker for his gym bag. Blaine's eyes widen when he catches a whiff of it.

"You'd tell me if I smelled like that, right?"

"Oh sweetie, I'd break up with you if you smelled like that."

He laughs. "You would not."

"No," I sigh. "No, I wouldn't."

I half-expect Mr. Schue's car to still be in the parking lot — the man is distinctly lacking when it comes to a social life — but other than my car, the lot is empty when we head outside. Blaine wraps an arm around mine, tucking his chin into my shoulder.

"Cold."

"Mm."

"I can think of some ways you could warm me up."

My cheeks flush, and not from the cold, as I run though my parents' work schedules in my head. "My house should be empty for the next forty-five minutes or so."

"Perfect, I only need five or six minutes, and we can spend the rest of the time snuggling."

We both start giggling, and I don't notice that someone's behind us until I hear a voice call out.

"Hey."

Blaine turns, lets go of my arm. "Yes?"

There's a loud thud. I spin and see him on the ground. "What— Blaine?" I crouch down quickly to help him up, but he doesn't take my outstretched hand. "_Blaine_?"

A sickening rush washes over me. Blood, there's blood. His head. Why is there blood on his head? He opens his eyes, humming out a low, pained whine as he looks over my shoulder. I'm still frozen beside him when there's a flash of movement and he cries out.

I can't breathe, can't do anything but fall on top of Blaine. He's being attacked. Someone's attacking us.

I try to shield him with my body. Air whistles next to my ear, and then pain blooms sudden and sharp at my neck. The blows come too fast to count. There's too many. Can't look, can't move, can't take a breath. I try to curl around Blaine and cover my own head. A loud crack, then blinding pain. I try to scream, but there's no air.

"Move," someone grunts low, kicking at me. "_Move_." Something digs hard into my thigh, dragging me off of Blaine as I scream out in agony.

They're beating Blaine now. Sickening thuds, one after another. He doesn't make a sound. A metal bar glints in the moonlight, swinging up and down, hitting Blaine over and over.

Someone is moaning. High and sharp and it might be me. Blood trickles into my right eye, painting everything I see a hazy red hue.

_Leave him alone_, I think, struggling to sit up, to call for help, to do anything to rescue him. _Leave him alone._

One of the attackers starts to mutter, like he can read my mind: "Leave him alone, leave him alone, leave him alone..."

I roll onto my back, my breath coming in short, shallow pants. "Leave him alone. Leave him alone. Leave him..."

We chant it together, again and again. A prayer of protection. A shield made of words. One of my hands clamps down against my neck, the other against my thigh. Holding my pieces together. The pavement is cold against my back, and my blood gushes warm between my fingers. _Leave him alone._

The thuds come slower and slower as I continue to chant in my head. Finally there's nothing but silence. All I can hear is my breaths, short staccato bursts staggering unevenly from my mouth.

The stars are so bright tonight, even through the mist of breath. White and bright, hanging suspended in the air until they drop down slowly, landing cold on my eyelids.

Blaine makes no sound. Hasn't in what seems like hours.

I wonder if we'll die here.

I wonder if I want to.

The air is cold, too cold. It hurts my lungs to breathe, so I stop for a moment, and that's when I hear it. The faintest scratching noise. I turn to look at Blaine, and he's looking back at me. He's not moving, other than the slow scritch-scratch of his fingertips against the pavement, but he's alive.

The realization propels me up, gasping hard against the pain as I crawl my way over to him. There's blood, so much blood, too much blood.

"Help," I say, to no one. "Help us."

His head is cool under my hands as I put pressure against his head. My palms keep slipping, sticky red wet, and Blaine is watching me, his face placid and intent. Blood and blood, pooling between my fingers, dripping from my face.

How much blood is in a body? How much is pooling there on the pavement, growing thick and dark?

My fingertips slip against the smooth surface of my phone as I dial, holding the cell with one hand as I press the other against Blaine's head again.

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

"We need an ambulance. Please, help."

"Where is your location, ma'am?"

"Lima," I reply, not bothering to correct her. "William McKinley High School parking lot, in Lima. We've been attacked. Please, he's losing so much blood."

Blaine doesn't make a sound. His breaths are slow, shallow as he watches me. Once I end the call, I pull his head into my lap, pushing firmly against the gaping wound. My palms keep slipping. I fumble for Finn's gym bag, pulling out a wadded-up tee shirt and holding it to his head. The blood seeps quickly across the William McKinley logo.

"They're coming," I tell him. "They're coming, they'll help us."

Blaine's eyes are wide as they sweep across my face. Slowly, like he's never seen me before. He doesn't speak.

"Stay with me, baby, stay with me. Everything's going to be okay, just stay with me." I shift my hand to get a better angle, and his forehead creases in a wince. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I need to stop the bleeding, I'm sorry, I love you..."

His mouth falls open slightly, and his eyelids flutter closed. Snowflakes start to blanket us, and they make little red rivers of blood run down Blaine's cheeks.

"Sleep," I tell him. "Sleep, I'm here. They're coming, listen, an ambulance is coming... I'm here, stay with me..."

* * *

I jolt awake, echoes of a siren still ringing in my ears. A glance at the clock tells me it's almost five a.m. This was a bad one. Most mornings I can sleep till six before the nightmares become too much to bear.

I lie still for a few minutes, trying to judge whether I've woken anyone up. Sometimes I've screamed, thrashed, calling for help. But the air seems still and silent around me as I get up and head into the hallway.

Our new house has one little bathroom, and long hot showers are a luxury we can't afford anymore. I bathe quickly, then spend a little extra time on my hair this morning. The Lima Bean doesn't open for another half-hour, so I've got some time to kill.

I'm sipping a cup of tea at the table when Dad stumbles blearily into the kitchen.

"You're up early," he mumbles.

I lift one shoulder.

"Heading to work?"

"No, not yet. Should be in around noon."

"Kurt..."

"What?"

He sighs heavily. "Look... sometime you're gonna have to face the facts."

"The doctors said—"

"I know what the doctors said. But it's been almost a year, kid." He rubs the back of his neck. "Coffee drinking's an expensive habit—"

"I'm paying for it myself."

"—and you should be saving that money for college." He hesitates, then adds, "Not to mention I could use the help earlier in the day. Yesterday we lost some business on account of not enough guys to do a fast turnaround."

Guilt crawls slowly up my spine, twisting around each vertebra. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just... just don't forget about the people you still got here."

I stare down at the kitchen table, noticing where the laminate is starting to peel away. "I'll come in around ten, okay?"

"Okay." He gets up, heads for the pantry and grabs a box of cereal. "Oh, and Kurt?"

"Mm?"

"I know you like that song, but..." He hesitates when I look up at him sharply. "It's..."

"I'll start wearing headphones," I tell him, my chair screeching against the floor as I get to my feet.

"You know I'm not talking about the volume."

"You going to stop me from listening to a song?"

"I'm not saying that—"

"I'll see you at ten."

He calls after me, but I'm already grabbing my keys and heading out the door, and I don't stop.

We've had this talk before. I think we both have it memorized by now.

I set the song on a loop as I drive to the Lima Bean. Some days I sing along. Today, I don't.

_Can't you see  
__That when I find you, I'll find me  
__Oh, I need you to know, today  
__I'll wait for you always_

I pull into the lot just after six o'clock. It's freezing out, and I'm grateful to see that Bethany has spotted me and is already preparing my usual as I walk in the door.

"That Asian girl was in here again yesterday afternoon," she tells me as she rings up my order.

"Tina?"

"Yeah. She was asking about you."

I take the tiniest sip of my coffee; it has to last me several hours. "What'd you tell her?"

"Only that you seem like you're doing okay." She leans against the counter, swipes her blonde bangs out of her eyes. "Aren't you?"

I nod, and she nods back, and I'm pretty sure we're lying to each other.

My usual table in the middle is free, so I sit down, take a copy of _Elle_ out of my bag. I had to cancel all my magazine subscriptions when money got tight, but the Lima Public Library has most of my favorites. The hours tick by as I read and sip my coffee. It's nearly time to leave for work — I'm just finishing up in an article on "How to Make Your Cheekbones Look More Luminous" — when I hear Bethany's voice ring out sharply.

"_Kurt_."

I look up at her, startled by her tone, but she's staring outside. I turn my head, watch a familiar-looking figure make its way into the coffee shop, his cheeks stained red from the cold. He stops just inside the door, breathes in deeply and smiles.

My heart starts up a hard rhythm, beating against my ribs with dull thuds. I don't move, don't make a sound.

He walks up to the counter, orders coffee from Bethany. As though this is any other morning. As though the earth hasn't tilted on its axis, shifted the ground beneath our feet. He prepares his coffee, then turns and looks around the room before settling his gaze on me.

Blaine approaches me, smiling widely. "Hi."

Does he... _does he_? "Hi."

His eyes are wide as they sweep across my face. Slowly, like he's never seen me before. "My name's Blaine."


End file.
